


Once Caged

by DaedricDoll



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon Divergence, Childhood Trauma, Developing Relationship, F/M, Psychological Trauma, Slow Burn, not lore-friendly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-02-22 21:57:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23701030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaedricDoll/pseuds/DaedricDoll
Summary: After all he'd been through, Bishop thought he wouldn't be able trust or become even a little close to anyone, until a strange young mage wedges her way into his life with the fate of the world on her shoulders and more problems than he's ever dealt with.
Relationships: Bishop/Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Bishop/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Barf. No content warnings for this chapter.

_ A young girl stands near the edge of a jagged cliff, heels raised and hands clasped over her chest. She watches distant clusters of fog drift over the Reach’s rocky mountains, while the sun slowly begins its descent toward the horizon. Even though she’s seen the spectacle countless times before, her wide eyes still glisten with wonder and anticipation. _

_ “Mama...” With a bright smile, the girl turns herself around and faces the figure that stands not too far behind her, an emaciated, hunched thing shrouded by tattered dark robes. “...do you know where brother has been all day? I haven’t seen him.” _

_ From beneath its hood, there’s the flash of a toothy grin. It steps closer to the girl, who turns back around to continue her admiration of the scenery. _

_ “You’re brother hasn’t been behaving recently,” the creature says, its voice dry, “so he’s going to spend the rest of the evening doing chores.” _

_ “Aww, really? I was hoping to play with him a little before sunset.” _

_ “No need to concern yourself with him -” _

_ The creature curls its gnarled hands around the girl’s shoulders, and her posture relaxes in response. The sky’s blue tone starts to make its shift to a gentle pink. _

_ “- you, my dear, are meant for much greater things.” _

-

Verelle comes back to her senses as the last bandit falls to the ground with a soft thump. The tendrils of ice magic pouring from her outstretched hands dissipate. She stands up straight, breathing hard and shaking from adrenaline. _It’s over. It’s done. I’m safe._

The air smells rancid, a mix of blood and arcane energy, and Verelle can’t help but grimace. Five bodies surround her, a group of assailants that she assumes did not expect their chosen target to be a mage, cushioned by the thick blanket of snow that smothers the forest. She didn’t want to do it, but despite her warnings, they lunged at her. Now they’re dead, while she can walk away without a scratch on her. Other people would probably think they deserved it for choosing such a lifestyle in the first place, but to Verelle, something about it seems unfair. It makes her stomach churn, but she pushes the sensation down as far as she can.

She breathes in, turns away from the scene, and rubs her arms as the cold starts to set in again. Aside from a small scarf wrapped around her neck and a hood that fell off during the fight, she is by no means dressed for the weather with her short sleeves and thin layers. Even so, the exertion warmed her body to the point of where a film of sweat shines on her face.

Verelle wipes some droplets off her forehead with the back of her hand as she scans her surroundings - still only lit by the rays of the moon, quiet once more, and between the tall evergreens and shrubbery, still empty. She is alone again, unless the bandits had more friends in this area who will note their absence and eventually go looking. It’s enough of a possibility that she should leave before that happens...but this part of Skyrim is wholly unfamiliar. Perhaps if she kept one of the bandits alive, she could have asked for directions.

Verelle tugs her hood back over her head with a sigh and makes sure her robes are free of blood. Going in one direction will take her somewhere eventually. Maybe she’ll be lucky enough to find even a road, but-

“You. Turn around. Slowly.”

Verelle freezes in place and her heart starts to pound in her chest again. The voice comes from somewhere behind her, deep, gravelly, and muffled by something, but not close enough for them to have a blade at her back.

Did another bandit find her already? At least this one is actually talking to her, and not only saying ‘shut up and die!’

“Did you not hear me? Turn around. And put your hands up while your at it.”

She raises her hands up and slowly faces in the direction of the voice, back towards where the bodies lay in the snow. Not far from them and positioned next to a tree is the source - a man clad in black, spiked leather, with his bow drawn and an arrow aimed right at her. A hood and mask cover most of his face.

Verelle’s magic instinctively starts to bristle at her fingertips, but he doesn’t look like the other bandits, who wore brown and gray.

“Wh...what do you want?” She asks, trying and failing to keep her voice steady. The last thing she want or needs is take another life before the night is through.

“To know what in Oblivion you are, to be one unarmed woman standing in front of five dead bodies,” the man says, drawing his arrow back even further, “forgive me, but I have a hard time believing that you’re not some kind of...monster.”

_Monster._ Verelle gulps.

“They were bandits. They attacked me,” Verelle explains, “I tried to reason with them, because it’s not like I even have anything to steal, but they wouldn’t listen. I only...I only defended myself.”

The man inclines his head. “And how’d you manage to go about that?”

“Magic. I’m a mage.”

“A mage. Of course.” He appears to roll his eyes, though it’s hard to tell from the distance between them. “Must be one powerful mage, though. I’ve taken whole groups of mages down before myself, single-handedly. And you take down _five_ bandits?”

_Why is this guy so suspicious?_ Verelle guesses he must be on edge due to the forest proving to not exactly be a safe place. There are few locations in the Skyrim’s wilds that are.

“Well...are you some random bandit?”

There’s a moment of pause before the man answers, “No, I’m not. That’s a good point, I guess. But still, there were five of them.”

Verelle shrugs, feeling a little less tense now that she seems to be getting through to this stranger, at least a little. “I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe I’m just a pretty powerful mage.” She didn’t think this was unusual. She’s never had more than one solid point of comparison.

“And what’s supposed to make me think once I lower this arrow and let my guard down, that you won’t blast me with fire, make me hallucinate, or whatever kind of weird shit you do?”

She bites her lip. “I don’t know...I can promise I won’t?”

“...fine. Not much you can really do besides that, it seems.” The man lowers his weapon, un-nocks the arrow, and slides it into the quiver slung over his back. “I’ve got more important things to be doing, anyway.”

Verelle drops her hands in relief, and the tension starts to dissipate from the air. The man starts to turn away and to head back in the direction from where he seemed to come from, and Verelle sees her last opportunity.

“Actually, um, before you go...can I ask you something?”

He looks back at her, looking slightly annoyed. “What?”

“I’m kind of...lost,” she says, folding her hands behind her back and glancing between him and her boots, “I need directions to the closest town or city, if you know.”

The man points his finger to her right. “Keep heading that way and you’ll eventually find the road to reach Helgen. Closest town from here.”

Verelle smiles. “Thank you. That’s just what I needed.”

He lowers his arm and shakes his head. “Whatever. Just don’t go blowing anything or anyone else up with your mage powers, alright?”

Her smile fades as he turns away and eventually fades into the shadows. What a strange and...unfriendly person. She guesses he may have been some kind of hunter in a sour mood. At least she came out of the situation unharmed, not with another person’s life weighing on her conscience, and with some idea of where to go.

Verelle shifts her gaze to the right of her. As far as she can see, the only things that stand in her way are the trees and the deep snow. She adjusts her hood and scarf, then looks one last time at the dead bandits scattered across the ground, with a small hope in her heart that snowfall will bury them soon as a way of putting them to rest. With that, she leaves the scene behind, as the stranger did.

Helgen awaits, whatever it may hold.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light CW for brief / implied(?) suicidal ideation.
> 
> Go back and re-read the 1st chapter if you read the old one. I re-wrote stuff.

The smell of burning oak, the gentle plucking of a poorly-tuned lute, and a stabbing pain in his skull pulls Bishop from his sleep. He lazily peels his eyes open to the inside of an empty mug laid down on its side against the wood of a bar top, which his aching head and arms are also flopped against. From behind the bar, Orgnar stares at him out of the corner of his vision as he rubs a dirty mug with a washcloth.

“’Afternoon, sleeping beauty.”

Bishop waves him off as he and pushes himself to sit up straight and look around. Light filters into the main room from the high windows, taking over while the fire in the center starts to shrink as it burns away its fuel supply. The Sleeping Giant Inn is as empty as it usually is this time of day, with Delphine and Sven being the only other people there, the former sweeping in a corner and the latter being the source of the grating musical notes.

“I would have let you have a bed, you know,” Orgnar says.

“...spent all my money on ale.”

“I wouldn’t have asked for any.”

Bishop huffs. “Just leave me alone, old man.”

“Suit yourself.”

Once Orgnar focuses back on his work, Bishop pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut against his headache. The memories of the previous day come back to him, making his way through the forest to Riverwood in the middle of the night, encountering that strange woman, and then getting so drunk in the inn he passed out and spent the night. Again. A small part of him thinks he should thank Orgnar and Delphine for not throwing him out onto the street like the useless drunk he really is, but his pride stands in front of that like a stone wall.

_But this wouldn’t be happening if you didn’t screw up._

He shakes the negative thoughts away and leans his elbows against the bar. His eyes trace the curves in the wood as he tries to organize his brain, caught between what he knows he needs to be doing right now instead of sitting in a bar, and images of the woman in the forest last night that remain burned into his mind for some reason. She smelled like trouble, at least as much trouble as the bandits she apparently killed, even as Bishop turned away and let her go. Was it a mistake? What else was he supposed to do? Picking fights just because he doesn’t trust someone isn’t the smartest idea while by his lonesome. Maybe the part of him that wants to throw his life away took over. It certainly did well after the incident, but thankfully his body shut itself down before he could drink himself to death.

His gaze drifts to the spot to his left on the floor, where his bow, quiver, and other belongings rest. They tug at him quite forcefully as a reminder of his task, but he can at least wait a bit to see if the headache lets up. At least that...

“Hey.” 

...but seldom do things ever go his way.

The voice is familiar. Bishop turns his head to the other side of him to see the person he least expected sitting in the adjacent stool - the woman from the forest.

Her hood is gone, revealing a pale complexion, locks of long dark hair pulled over one shoulder, and curious tattoos around her eyes that seem to resemble tiny feathers. She wears the same clothes as last night, black and gray robes with short sleeves, but some of their edges seem to be...singed?

Their eyes meet, and the vacancy in them gives him pause. The air around her is different. Heavier. Dark rings encircle her eyes and her shoulders are curled around her like a defensive wall.

 _...did she really blow up Helgen? No, of course she didn’t, idiot. People would have noticed something like that._

Bishop says the second thing that comes to mind: “Did you follow me?”

“No. I went to Helgen, then...” Her gaze drifts away from him, “...ended up here. I recognized you from your armor, so...I thought I would say hello. And thank you for not shooting me last night.”

“Uh, sure. Although it probably didn’t seem like it, I don’t exactly make a habit of putting an arrow in every person I come across, no matter how _weird_ they are.” Bishop takes the mug and sets it upright on the bar top, just to do something with his hands. “But something tells me that’s not the only reason you’re here, if that’s the real reason at all.”

She bites her lip quite obviously. _Cute._ Now that Bishop has seen her up close, she’s not actually bad to look at if he does say so himself, aside from the dishevelment that he’s sure has some explanation. She’s short, pallid, and allegedly a mage - perhaps a Breton? Maybe a spell of hers backfired, although the shaken appearance she has tells him otherwise.

“...it’s a long story,” she finally says, “but...I did come here on the small chance that you would help me.”

Bishop snorts. “Help you? What in Oblivion makes you want to come up to the guy with a weapon pointed in your face ten hours ago asking for help? You don’t even know my name.”

“Call it a feeling. Out of everyone else in this village even able to help me, you’re the one who I know the best. The man who brought me here is a little tied down to other obligations.” The woman pulls one of her legs up to her chest and rests her chin on it. The heaviness around her seems to have calmed a bit, though he can’t imagine why. His presence has never been noted as comforting. “Alvor told me your name was Bishop.”

“Alvor? That’s who pointed you to me? Dammit.” Bishop presses a hand against his forehead and lets out a long sigh. “Look, lady, I don’t know what he told you, but I’m not exactly for hire right now. I have something else I need to be doing.”

She cocks an eyebrow, and her tone turns flat, “Like what? Sitting here and drinking all day?

“None of your business,” he snaps, “and if you’re going to insult me like that, you especially shouldn’t expect me to help you.”

The woman’s expression changes to regret. “I...sorry.”

“Sure. Can you go away now?”

“Wait!” She drops her leg back down from her chair, all of a sudden looking frantic. “Please. I’m sorry. That was rude of me. At least...at least hear me out.”

He’s just about had it. This woman is proving herself to be an extra headache on top of the one he already has, but he closes his eyes again, takes a deep breath, and controls himself...

...after all, if she is the ‘powerful’ mage she claimed to be...maybe she can be of use? It’s not like he’s keen on dragging other people into his problems, apparently unlike every other blasted person in this country, but if she’s as desperate as she sounds, maybe she’ll be amenable to it. It’s not like she seems to have any compensation on her anyway. A favor for a favor.

Despite his new line of thinking, Bishop maintains the disinterested and annoyed expression on his face. “Fine. What do you want?”

“Well...” She starts to rub her hands as if warming them. “...it’s a bit of a long story. Believe it or not, I’ve actually been given a task by the Jarl of Whiterun. You know him?”

“Never met the guy, but I know of him. You’re right though, Can’t say I really believe that someone like you would be working for him.” He looks her up and down again, and notices her visibly tense in response. “No offense, but you don’t exactly look...official.”

The woman shakes her head. “That’s because I’m not. It’s a one time thing, or it seems like it. He wants me to go into the ruins in the mountains and find something for him. Some kind of ancient artifact. I forgot the exact name of it. He said it was important so...I didn’t turn him down.”

Bishop snorts.

“And what, you want me to find it for you while you get all the credit?”

“Not at all. I don’t know this area well. I asked you directions to get to the nearest town, remember?” Her expression softens a bit. The shine in her eyes makes her look like a lost puppy. “I just want you to come with me and watch my back. The people around here say the place is dangerous.”

“Hm. Can’t say I expected that...”

Bishop looks away from her and instead at the empty ale mug in front of him. Either tolerate this woman’s company until both their ‘duties’ are done and over with, or go with his original plan on his own and risk tossing himself into a situation where he’ll likely be outnumbered and overpowered, even with his skill and experience. The first might kill him in a figurative sense, but the second...

“You know what, that’s doable,” he says as he returns his attention to the woman, who perks up, “one one condition. I can’t imagine you have money to pay me, so I’ll need your help with something in return.”

“I...hadn’t thought of that, actually.” She presses her fingers together with a guilty look as her focus switches between him and the floor. “But whatever you want from me, I’m sure I can do it.”

“Did you think I was going to ‘help’ you out of the kindness of my heart or something? You’ve got a lot to learn about me and the rest of this world, princess,” he replies, “thing is, I have a...close friend, who’s been taken from me. He’s being held by a bandit ring holed up east of here. I was planning to risk it myself, but something tells me I’ll have better chances if I bring you along.”

The hint of a smile forms on her face, although the damaged bits of clothing and gaunt cheeks are hard to ignore.

“Fighting bandits? I think I’ve proven I can do that.”

“Since I didn’t see it happen, I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it.” Bishop runs a hand back through his hair and cracks his neck. Earlier he wanted to stay slumped against the bar, but now his fingers itch for his gear and his legs beg to move. “If you’re really up for it, then it’s a deal. I think my situation’s a little more immediate, so we would head there first.”

She nods. “Makes sense. Deal.”

Bishop lets out a sigh of relief. If this works out as planned, then in just a few days, things will be normal again - or at least, as ‘normal’ as they’ve ever been in his life.

“You got a name?” He asks.

“It’s Verelle.”

“Hm. Never heard that one before.”

Bishop stands from his chair and stretches his arms up with a loud yawn. Verelle stays seated and stares at him, her face unreadable. She doesn’t move as he turns around, picks his pack, bow, and quiver, then slings them all over his shoulder in one smooth movement.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t trying to show off, even if only a little bit. It’s in his nature.

“Unless you have something you want to do before we leave, like getting supplies or grabbing anything you own,” he says as he turns back to face her, “I suggest we head out now. It’ll take us a day or so to get there, if we make good time.”

Verelle hops off her own stool and smooths out her robes, although he thinks they’re beyond saving in the state they’re in. “All I have are the clothes on my back, I’m afraid. I lost everything else.”

“That just makes things easier, then. Try to keep up, because I’m not a slow walker.”

Bishop turns on his heel and starts towards the door. From what he can tell, she immediately takes his advice and sticks right behind him, arms wrapped around herself and one hand fidgeting with a piece of her robes.

Although he doubts the gods would listen, if they even exist, he silently prays that he won’t regret this.


End file.
